#and johnny was born for this look

[mightbemod]

I made this because I've seen multiple fanarts of Jonathan with all the later jojos as kids, and they usually make Johnny a kid too! But Johnny is also an old man with his many descendants and now must feel the burden of fatherhood

Children featured from left to right: Kei Nijimura, Dragona Joestar, Jodio Joestar, Yoshikage Kira, George Joestar III, Joseph Joestar

Bonus:

[lonelyplanetfag]

last post i promise: soemtimes i forget tylas not dead cuz he has the vibes of a dead guy like johnny thunders yk he vibes like that to me but no he's just british

[beloveds-embrace]

Idgaf abt how military works sorry yall but imagine the 141 gang having to do mandatory charity and no, not even Ghost can opt out of it regardless of how he says he’s honest to god not fucking fit to be visiting sick patients. But alas.

But they end up meeting you- frail, fragile, and sick you, no visitors around you. Though you look at them with curiosity and admiration, you keep yourself away, almost as if you don’t want to bother them.

You can’t help looking at them, though. You’ve been sick all your life- born to a mother who left you on the doorsteps of an overcrowded orphanage, left alone often and long for your body to just… fail you. You don’t think you’ve seen outside the orphanage walls and then these hospital grounds since your birth. You would be dead now if it weren’t for the CEO of the hospital taking pity on you after you turned eighteen and the orphanage cleaned their hands off you.

And so, you can’t help but envy them just a little. Strong, agile people in the military, bodies fit and healthy. Despite knowing they are always putting themselves on the line, constantly in danger, you can’t help the longing you feel. Longing you don’t realize is clear as day in your eyes.

The one to approach you first is the man you thought one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He introduces himself as Kyle, and despite your silence- your interactions with others that are not doctors or nurses are far and few, and you are painfully shy- but he is nice. Gentle. Easily keeps the conversation going despite. He is so easy-going he has you grinning and laughing in no time. It catches the attention of a the Scot with a mohawk, who joins in by sharing even wilder stories. And then the man with the scary ghost mask, so often in their stories, comes to your little crowd. He is big, scary if the nurses’ reactions are anything to go by, and yet the only thing you’ve ever truly been afraid of is dying with a life not truly lived. So you don’t flinch or cower from him, merely ask if he has anything interesting to share with you.

The last you speak with is John Price. Captain John Price. If there is a man that can embody a bear, it has to be him. You are sure of it. Especially when you witness him smacking the back of Kyle’s head lightly after a teasing comment.

Maybe your chances of a long, fulfilling life are slim but today, just for today, you allow yourself to envision a life with them. Such a strange desire, a useless and wistful one.

“Thank you, for today.” You tell them quietly, when it’s nearing time to leave. Your hands are held in Kyle and Johnny’s, frail and weak compared to theirs. You smile at them, squeezing lightly. “I think this is the most happy and content I’ve been all my life. I won’t forget today.”

And in return? Neither will they. How could they ever forget you, the sweetheart in the hospital bed, your sickness keeping you away from the joyful life you deserve?

The won’t forget you. Not at all. And when you start receiving gifts, polaroids and letters and texts, you already know who is sending them to you.

It makes things just a little easier- your life just a little brighter.

Other works + help me choose a title for this!

[bi-writes]

i'm a big fan of your writing! can i ask what made simon want to mail order a bride in the first place? thanks <3

mail-order bride

he's tired of staring across his dinner table and seeing nothing but empty space.

it isn't something he had thought about in the before. he's spent a long time shifting between different cots, collecting sand from faraway places and counting the bodies he dropped with tally marks against his boots.

there's a picture he keeps tucked into his vest, but he won't take it out. it sits heavy there, an invisible wall between himself and the outside world, a reality that he chooses not to believe. if he doesn't look at them, he won't think of them, and if he doesn't think of them, maybe he can pretend they were never even real.

they all have something outside of here. his sergeants are too pretty and too outgoing to stick around; they're social butterflies, and simon has seen the shuffle of pictures of some pretty girl that gaz can't stop staring at, and soap never shuts up--whenever they have a signal, he's somehow got a phone call with his cousin's stepfather's little sister, or it's his second cousin's brother-in-law's birthday, and he's got to wish him well since he missed his art exhibition last month.

even price has a pale circular shadow that is stained onto his ring finger.

it's not his fault, is it? it's not his fault he was dealt the worst fucking hand. it wasn't his fault he was born already two feet into the grave; it couldn't have been his fault that he can only get a good night's sleep when there's screaming in one ear or the rattle of a battlefield over his head.

it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault.

the cigarettes taste bland today. they're old, stale, and he can taste the bitterness already, but he lights it anyways, flicking ash into the ground, scrunching his nose until he gets used to the bite of it.

there's a shadow at his side, and he turns to snap at them, assuming it's johnny and his incessant nagging, but he holds his tongue when he realizes it's his captain.

he's got a warm cigar in one hand, and he leans against the concrete wall beside him, sighing deep, the kind of pensive weight that only a captain can bear.

price looks tired. he needs to go home.

"boys invited y'out, didn't they?" price asks, and simon chuckles lowly.

"'m olready 'ome," simon murmurs. "'n i can get piss drunk oll on my own 'ere."

price shrugs.

"ya haven't taken leave since you joined my team, simon," he says low. "can't have that. you know it."

simon shrugs.

"can try and make me go," simon tells him. "but y'know i won't leave."

"i'm not asking, simon," price says firmly. "'m telling."

"doesn't matter," simon takes a long drag of the cigarette, holding it in for a second too long before letting it out slow. "got nowhere ta go."

his captain is not blind. simon's on a one-way road, and the end of it stops at the end of someone else's gun. men like simon, the ones who have nothing to lose, they're dangerous. they clear rooms outnumbered thirty to one because no one thinks they can. they hit targets from thousands of yards away because it's the only place that never changes. they kill and sleep peacefully because the blood of a stranger is far cleaner than that of someone they know, of someone they love.

they'll never leave because war is familiar. they don't want to go home because home isn't something they know. they're nomads, taking with them only what they can carry, because the rest is baggage and an emotional weight that they aren't strong enough to carry.

but it doesn't mean men like simon don't want. it doesn't mean they don't wish for more. it doesn't mean they don't think about using their teeth for something other than baring them to show their dominance, their aggression, their insecurity.

simon's a protector. the way he shoves his men behind him says so. the steadiness of his voice over comms when the op goes to shit. the ease of his hand when he ties a tourniquet. the split second that simon never wastes, the way he uses his body as armor and the look he gives his men when they're scared. simon's died twice before, and the look in his eyes tells them that this isn't it, that this isn't death, because he'd fucking know--he'd recognize it if he saw it.

simon's unrelenting. his past, his trauma, it's tried to beat him into a shape that will bend and snap, but its obvious simon is not made of lead--fuck, he's an entire block of unmovable steel. he does not give when compressed, he does not crack when the strength of him is tested. simon's fought too hard to live to let a gun terrify him, he's endured too much torture to flinch when someone sinks a blade into his chest.

but he knows, simon knows, that there is something missing. he fought hard to live, but for what? he's endured, but what the fuck is there when he lays his head down at night?

simon's a lover. he tries so hard to convince himself that he's always been this way--alone, drifting, lost, but it's a lie. simon knows what it's like to want. he knows what it's like to look into a crowd and hope you see a familiar face. he understands wanting to pull that string taut, but he also understands what it can do to you. what it can take from you.

he understands what you can never get back.

he thinks this is a bad idea. he crumples the note paper in his hand that had the address scribbled onto it, tearing it, staring up at the house in front of him. it's quaint, a lovely little house in the outskirts of london, with a red chimney and overturned planters in the yard. there's a weathered wooden door, a porch step that needs fixing, and when he kicks open the door, he grimaces seeing a carpet that need's replacing.

"the fuck am i doin' 'ere?" he whispers to himself, sliding his mask off, running a hand over his face. his heart is pounding, but he's not sure why, but he catches his reflection in the window. what looks back at him terrifies him--he can't do this.

he makes his way back outside, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. he takes a seat on the steps, lighting it, and as he takes his first frantic drag, he sees the torn pages of the note still on the ground. he picks up one end of it, running his thumb over the crumpled paper there, smudging the pencil scribble there.

she needs you

it's written in price's ugly handwriting, letters all tilted to the side and barely legible, but he still can read what price didn't write--and you need her.

but simon doesn't need anyone. he barely needs himself, barely can take care of himself. this won't help him--he can't help anyone, he isn't the kind that can be this kind of thing for anyone. he's stayed in the service because at least this way, he can die with honor, he can prove them all wrong, he can at least be remembered for what he could do and not by what was done to him.

his touch is ice. his heart is buried too deep under his ribs; no one has seen it since he could finally register a memory. his face, the skin he wears--he's not a pretty man, he's a forgettable one. he isn't gentle, he isn't capable of it. he can't forgive. he's so quick to anger, likes to snap his teeth, and he cannot be the kind of thing that they all expect him to be.

he does not love himself. he will not love himself. so he cannot love another.

there is a certain kind of satisfaction he feels when he fixes the porch step. once abandoned, once a nuisance, and now it functions as intended. he feels the same kind of thing when he rips up the stained carpet, and he feels it again when he watches the seeds of the thyme leaves grow as they rest in a pot above the sink.

things once forgotten serve a purpose. with effort, they can be used again. they don't have to be replaced, they can be open anew, they can live again and breathe deeper and see through the lens of a different perspective.

when you climb the porch steps the first time, he thinks about the board that doesn't wobble any longer. when the door shuts behind you for the first time and you take off your boots, he thinks about the new carpet that warms your toes now.

and when you lay next to him for the first time, under the covers of the bed he's made, he reaches over and slips a few fingers around your wrist, thumbing at the base of it and swallowing hard when he feels the pulse of your heartbeat. it beats, warm and steady, to a beat familiar, one he knows. his heart has not been hiding under thick bone and the tar of his own blood.

it's here now. under your skin. and now it's home.

[eleganthologramcolor]

Goofy way of delivering news to the 141???

Mini Poly!141 + reader (Reader is gender neutral but implied female anatomy, pregnancy)

You're smug, grinning slyly as you set up a little projector in the living room, dimming the lights.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you all here," you hum, feigning nonchalance as the boys sit spread apart from the couch, the love seat and Johnny in the floor, too antsy to sit on the furniture.

The projector flicks on with a kahoot code screen.

"Boys, if you could join."

They give each other looks, already wary from the last stunt you'd pulled with this. There's even a glimmer of panic on Johnny's face, who's trying to frantically remember the date in case he'd forgotten your birthday again.

Kyle and Price are playful, indulging you, and Simon is quiet. He can tell something's up, something a little more than just a game. He keeps his mouth shut, though, tongue in cheek as he glances at his own phone screen.

"We are going to take a quiz today."

And with that, the game begins.

Question 1: what is this?

Displayed over the question is a photo of you, beaming, holding a positive pregnancy test. The boys cheer, gathering you up in their arms, Kyle gets to you first, pressing kisses to the top of your head, and Johnny's trying to pull you close to start grabbing at your belly, as if there may be signs already.

Question 2: Who's the father?

"Bit of an unserious way to deliver news, innit?" Simon finally grumbles, unable to hold back the amused huff.

Then the screen flicks to the next question.

The room is quiet for a moment, competitive, the boys instantly hushed as they glance at one another. They each pick themselves, of course, they'd hope they got first born. Who wouldn't?

But when in the dark, Kyle's face is lit up in green, and there's only a pause before he's cackling victoriously as he runs out of the room to evade the pillows thrown at his head.

[elexaria]

domestic! simon is the best partner & father your family could ever ask for. he’s up at the ass crack of the morning to make a dash to the store, stocking up on all the groceries and making sure to grab your pregnancy cravings. you wake up, sore, miserable and aggy— toddling downstairs with bed head, only to find he’s at the kitchen counter slicing up fresh fruit for you. “oi, sit down.” he’ll say affectionately, pointing to the table so don’t stay on your feet for too long. “i’m pregnant, si, i’m not completely incompetent.” you sigh, hands rubbing your swollen tummy with a smirk. he chuckles, raising his eyebrows at you as if to say ‘you sure about that?’

he rubs soothing lotions onto your tummy, unable to stop himself from grinning with each kick from wee riley. “feisty one, eh? gets it from papa riley.” he remarks, his eyes warm with affection as he continues to stare down at your tummy. “mad, ‘ent it? to think.. i’m gonna be a dad. crazy.”

and the love doesn’t stop when wee riley is born, it quadruples in size. a milk-drunk baby all coddled up in the crook of his arm while he whips up some dinner. he swears that his mac n cheese & tenderstem broccoli heals, and you have to admit he does manage to make even stinky ol’ broccoli taste good. he doesn’t understand why dads make such a big fuss about being active parents, hell, you have to remind simon that wee riley is your baby too!

he loves the milestones, can’t not shut up about how much he loves his kiddo. spends his time gushing to laswell about their kids, how exciting it is to be a parent!! the boys love it too, to be honest. johnny’s set out to be wee riley’s favourite uncle, gaz likes teasing you about how whipped and domesticated ol’ ghosty is. and price, well, he’s actually wee riley’s favourite. he looks unamused every time the little bugger grabs at his moustache, babbling and squealing with excitement at the fluff on his face. he looks like a mardy bum, but when nobody’s looking he’ll crack a smile. and yes, johnny’s salty that the baby prefers price LOL

so imagine how excited he is when, on one lazy sunday morning, the three of you are laying in bed with no set plans for the day. the baby’s attention is divided between a silly kid’s movie on the telly, and exploring the terrain of the bed. grabbing tiny fistfuls of cotton with a toothy smile, babbling excitedly at papa riley. he chuckles, nodding as he leans in. “oh yeah? you showin’ the duvet who’s boss, love?” he grins, ruffling the delicate tufts of hair on wee riley’s head, eliciting an excited squeal. his attention is suddenly stolen when, unexpectedly, you slide a picture into his lap.

it’s an ultrasound.

he thought the happiest of his life was the day he had met you, but then he married you— and that was the happiest day of his life. and then wee riley was born, and he couldn’t comprehend how fucking happy and lucky he was as a man. so, the news of another baby on the way makes his heart full. fucking hell, he’s a lucky fella. and he wouldn’t have it any other way <33

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back (2)

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.3k

A/N: Simon's POV of events. Find part 1 here. Part 3 here 18+ nsfw themes

Simon’s not entirely sure what to make of his pretty neighbour who fattens him up with their cooking and has a penchant for bad jokes that might outshine even him. From the moment he’d caught you staring with wide eyes he’d expected wariness, or outright fear, those were the typical responses. He hadn’t expected you to force a tray of pasta bake into his hands and then promptly disappear before he could get a word in. 

It’s a bit ridiculous, but the random act of kindness set his teeth on edge, enough that he’d even suspected foul play briefly. Hunger and logic eventually won out over his paranoia and Simon devoured the tray embarrassingly fast. He’s not quite sure how to face you so he simply leaves the tray outside your door and assumes that will be that. 

Except it’s not. For some reason you’ve taken it upon yourself to feed him, leaving an array of dishes from dinners to snacks. Apart from an initial note inquiring into allergies you adapt his diet on experience, taking note of what he does and doesn’t seem to enjoy. 

He doesn’t know how to get you to stop, nor does he really want you to. Not when he’s become entirely too reliant on you feeding him, eagerly awaiting each new dish with the excitement of a hyperactive toddler. 

Price says he’s got a crush, which is just absurd, the only thing he knows about you is your name. And that your left cheek has a dimple when you smile, and that you love your cat more than anything and that-

He doesn’t have a crush. 

Then the elevator breaks. It breaks with only you and him inside and instead of panicking like he expected, you only seemed mildly annoyed for a few seconds before you turned to him with a conspiratorial grin. “A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and… cola. Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.”

Simon’s a little floored and it’s probably only his shock that prevents him from laughing because dammit, that was better than some of his. What shocks him even more is that you aren’t deterred from his silence. If anything, you seem to take it as a personal challenge and your eyes glint in determination. 

It’s both a mixture of the jokes and you’re adorable determination that finally pulls a chuckle from his lips and Simon will forever remember the way your face absolutely lit up at the noise. 

It’s not until he provides a joke of his own before ducking into the safety of his apartment that he briefly thinks Price may have been onto something. He staunchly pushes that thought away but then you start leaving jokes with the food and he has to admit he’s in a little bit of trouble. 

You wrangle his number from him (not that he resisted very hard) and then you wrangle him into your apartment and you make him watch as you flit around your kitchen in order to feed him. 

His next deployment comes at exactly the right time and Simon is prepared to spend the months away getting over you. Except this doesn’t happen because you send him a joke every day without fail, not even deterred when he rarely responds. 

You send a selfie of you and your cat and Simon stares far longer than is appropriate. He’s dreamt of you before, both innocently and not so. For some reason, the distance makes this worse and Simon wakes hard and aching for you more often than not. 

(Johnny walks in on him with his hand in his pants staring at a picture of you once and neither of them can look at each other for days. He thinks this is preferable to the shit-eating grins Johnny throws his way now.)

For the first time in his life, Simon’s desperate to get back from deployment to the empty apartment he barely considers his home. The empty white walls and space not seeming as depressing when he knows you’re waiting for him just across the hall. Waiting to fill the dark void in his chest that grows when he loses access to your smile. 

For the first time in his life, Simon doesn’t want to leave his apartment. Each time Price calls him away from your presence starts to weigh on his soul more and more. It’s getting harder and harder to stop being Simon, to put on the mask and be the Ghost when all he can think about is you. 

It all comes to a head nearly nine months after he'd initially met you. As much as he tries to ignore the way his heart sings in your presence and aches in your absence Simon can’t really deny how he feels about you anymore. 

You pull him from his dangerous train of thoughts when you plop down next to him on the couch. Not exactly a new move in of itself but even then he can’t help the way he shivers at the feel of your arm against his skin. 

If asked Simon wouldn’t be able to tell you a single plot point of the movie you’d put on, not when his mind was running a mile a minute and he was trying not to smell your hair like a creep. 

He tenses a little when you tip against him but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he can’t help but smile softly down at you as he watches you fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of sleep. Awe and adoration in his eyes as one of his hands lightly stroked your cheek, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his chest. 

You’d wormed your way into his heart months ago with all your stupid jokes and your insistence on looking after him. Not once had you ever asked for anything in return, you even seemed offended at the implication. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to let you in on his feelings, not when every time he left you could end up being his last. Simon had once accidentally caught you crying over your brother, a soldier like him, though not as lucky. Your brother was dead and buried and Simon saw the toll it took on you years later even when you tried to hide it. 

You were the sun. You were light and everything that was good in this world, saw the good in him, and Simon refused to be the potential reason that light was snuffed out. 

He wouldn’t do that to you. But Simon wasn’t completely selfless, so he held you in his arms as he slept, letting himself imagine a life where you could be together. A life where he got to come home to you and your stupid fat cat, his apartment no longer in use and he’d hold you just like this as you slept. 

This wasn’t that life, but Simon still let himself pretend it was, just for a little bit. Because Simon couldn’t deny it any longer, he loved you, was in love with you. And for that, he had to leave before he ruined you.

Tags: @cooliofango @innercollectivecomputer

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon hadn’t been this nervous since his baby girl was born nearly two years ago now. His palms were sweating as he glanced over at his daughter, who was waiting with excitement by the window.

“Are you okay, Si?” You asked, flashing your husband a warm smile, before wiping down the kitchen table for the fifth time that afternoon. “You seem nervous.”

“Think we both are.” Simon gave you a half smile, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his precious family. “Just nervous for the boys to finally meet my girls.”

You walked over to him, and were about to press a reassuring kiss to his lips before the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of your guests.

Your daughter squealed with excitement, and ran to open the door, her little arms barely able to reach the handle. “Daddy! They’re here!”

The door swung open revealing the 141 boys, each of them wearing matching smiles. Your daughter beamed up at them, and each of the men noted how similar she looked to her father.

The boys filed in, and it took all of a few seconds before your daughter was chatting away, clearly very excited to be meeting her daddy’s friends.

She had Johnny and Kyle’s full attention, showing them her newest collection of toys her daddy bought her, while John made his way over to you.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Riley.” John smiled, politely pressing a kiss to your cheek. He extended his hands to you, revealing a bouquet of flowers. “I would’ve insisted on meeting you sooner, but your husband has done an impeccable job of keeping you and the little one a secret from us.”

Simon wore a proud smile as he watched the encounter, suddenly very much liking you being referred to as “Mrs. Riley”. “For good reason, didn’t want to put them at risk.”

“Nonsense, Simon. I’m so happy to meet all of you. It’s about time I’ve met the men who my husband trusts with his life.” You waived away your husband’s concerns, prompting John to chuckle. “I’m glad you all could make it tonight. These flowers are beautiful by the way, thank you!”

Johnny and Kyle eventually made their way over, each of them greeting you with bone crushing hugs.

“Daddy! Uncle Johnny said that he’d babysit me one day!” Your daughter exclaimed, moving to hang onto Johnnys leg tightly.

“Did he now?” Simon asked, quirking a brow as he looked in Johnnys direction. “Uncle Johnny, eh?”

“Thought it was fitting, no?” Johnny laughed, petting your daughter’s head playfully. “Gotta say, L.T, she’s a spitting image of you.”

Simon felt a flush rise to his cheeks, the sentiment causing a warmth to spread through his bones. “I’d say she’s got her mother’s looks.”

When dinner rolled around, your daughter insisted on sitting in between her uncle Johnny and Kyle, relishing in all the stories they could tell her about her daddy.

You took note of the permanent smile etched onto Simon’s lips- though he was relatively quiet you could tell that he was enjoying himself. You only wished you had done this sooner.

As he looked around the room, Simon felt his heart flutter as laughter filled the air. Any nervousness he had felt before was gone, and Simon felt undeniably happy. He had everybody he loved and cared about, finally under one roof.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: not super happy with this one- so planning on doing another version shortly☺️❤️ (ideas are welcome!!)

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 reaction to when they are the biological father

poly 141 with pregnant reader if they are not the Dad

Price: He never thought he would be the dad. The doctors told him many years ago that he would never be able to have kids, so when you got pregnant, he was there for you but knew he would never be the biological father, and he was okay with it. When the baby was born and was hairy as a bear and had a dot on his nose just like John, he didn't believe it. He didn't want to raise his hopes. "It is Soap's, definitely." After a week, the paternity test came back, stating he is the father. John couldn't stop crying; he was the biological dad despite all the odds. He was the happiest man on earth.

Kyle: He held your hand while you gave birth, so concentrated on you that he didn't even look at the boy when he came out. When the nurse placed his boy on your chest with the remark "prettiest baby they have ever seen," he looked at the boy who looked like an exact copy of him, with beautiful amber eyes, his skin color, and already forming a charming smirk. It was over. "Just a pretty boy like his dad." The baby turned out to be like Kyle, and you were so proud of him. Gaz was such a wonderful father, treating every one of your kids, whether it's Simons, Johnnys, or Johns, as his own.

Soap: He knew it from the beginning. MacTavish genes are so strong, so he was always sure he was the dad. To cut him some slack, you and he had the most biological children together, three copies of Johnny, who made you rethink all of your life choices. It was a bad birth since the baby weighed already 10 pounds, a typical MacTavish baby. He started to cry when he saw the striking blue eyes. "You did such a good job, Bonnie, gave me a perfect bairn," he kissed you and the baby all over, apologizing to you about the birth, and overall became the perfect dad. And all the kids loved him, whether biological or not, so bad that you had four boys with mohawks all the time.

Ghost: He was more afraid to be the father than anything else. "What if I turn out just like my dad?" He didn't. He was one of the best dads you could ever imagine. When he looked the first time at the girl, he was 100% sure it was his. Blonde hair, pale skin, and already way too big, it was a Riley. He always held the baby on his bare chest, a thing he learned in all the books he read. Skin-to-skin is so important. He became the international best girl dad. This bulky man wore her pink backpack, made tea parties with your daughter, and overall was smitten. He loved all your children equally, but still, his little girl was his world.

Author's Note: All of them treat the children equally, whether they're biological or not, but it's still somehow something so deep for them when they see their mini-mes. You, on the other hand, are pissed how none of the children turn out to look like you despite being in labor for hours. "Not fair." "No more sex." "Go away, Johnny, with your fertile genes." "Mhm, Kyle and John can stay."

[kechiwrites]

totally platonic

johnny "soap" mactavish x best friend!reader kinktober countdown, day three (recording)

synopsis: soap helps you give your ex something real to worry about. 🎥

wc: 1.6k

cw: recording / making a sex tape, revenge, allusions to potential cheating (emotional?), fem + afab!reader, anal play, fingering, creampies, unprotected sex, spitting, mentions of cunnilingus

author's note: my first forray into soap, for the anon who asked for soap helping reader get revenge...like a million years ago.

“No, no, into the camera, I don’t want the poor fuck to miss your face when you come. Fucker’s probably never seen it. Not for real anyway.” Soap squeezes at the back of your neck, just firm enough to get you to lift your face out of your pillows. Enough to get you to stare into your phone’s camera. Your eyes make a fevered, strained connection with the tiny lens and a thrill runs through you, up your spine and out of your mouth in the form of Soap’s name. 

“Yes.” He hisses digging his fingertips into the flesh at your hips, tugging you back onto his length. 

Were you your ex, in about an hour or so, you’d get a video attachment with the sparkling heart emoji you loved to use in place of a caption. Were you your ex, you’d open the video, rolling your eyes and anticipating six minutes of you crying and whimpering apologies. Instead, you’d get an eyeful of your glassy expression, your clammy face, your open mouth, mumbling incoherently while Soap’s hips smacked hard against your back side.

You’d have seen the opening moments of the video you're currently shooting where Soap had zoomed in on the puffy lips of your cunt, documenting the way his dick slid over your labia over and over until you moaned deep in your throat off screen. You would’ve heard your own empty headed pleading with Johnny to “stop teasing already” before he sunk into you proper, pushing into your pussy, letting the camera catch him stretching you open, making you take every inch while you drooled obscenities. 

Thankfully though, you aren’t your ex, so you get to experience every second of Soap painstakingly taking you apart live and in-fucking-colour. 

It hadn’t been intentional. Soap is your friend, your best friend. Either of you would proudly take a bullet for the other. You’ve spent years in each other’s company, raiding each other’s fridges, crying on each other’s shoulders, laughing at one another’s dumbass jokes. You fit together like puzzle pieces. 

Totally. Platonic. Puzzle Pieces.

What makes the whole “having sex with your best friend and recording it” thing worse (or better, if you asked Johnny), is that your ex had always doubted the innocence of yours and MacTavish’s relationship, always muttering bitterly in the presence of your friendship. He’d argued over and over that Soap was “into you” and you just “didn’t want to see it”. And maybe you hadn’t. Maybe it made things easier to not address the casual intimacy of your actions, the long hugs, the near mouth kisses, the cuddling. You didn’t even want to consider the much too frequent occasions where you’d catch him staring at your mouth, or when you’d catch yourself leering at his arms, or the sex dreams. The goddamn sex dreams. Night after accursed night of Dream You and Dream Soap going at it like animals. Fucking like it’s what you were born to do.

Fucking the way you are right now.

He clasps a hand around your nape again, squeezing before he runs his palm down your sweat slick back. Soap presses deft fingers against your sides, gripping hard and punching forward again, rocking your entire body towards the camera. He’s going painfully slow, and the heavy glide of his cock inside you is mind-numbing. There’s no way the face you’re making to the camera lens is attractive, but later, when you're cuddled against him in your bed, rewatching the video, Soap will insist it’s perfect. 

Right now though, who gives a fuck what you look like, when you can feel Johnny rearranging your insides with his dick. 

He groans, spreading your ass to get a better look at his cock disappearing into you. “Fuck me.” He draws it out, voice drunk and deep with pleasure. You look over your shoulder at him, whispering something so low it doesn’t get picked up on camera.

And Soap couldn’t have that, could he?

“Tell him.” Your hips stutter, slowing the rhythm the two of you have built, your mind is already clouded with lust, thoughts obscured by the sensation of Johnny fucking you like he hates you.

Or loves you.

You really could not give less of shit about the difference tonight,

“Tell him, sweet.” He jerks his chin at your phone, propped up against a pillow and recording every second of your debasement in the highest definition the three year old device can manage.

Shivers wrack your body but you concede, facing the camera. “I asked him to spit on me.”

“Where did you ask for it? Don’t be shy.” He goads, picking up your slack, jolting you back and forth with deep thrusts, bottoming out then withdrawing until only the flushed scarlet tip of his cock is inside you, only for him to fuck back into you, grinding against your abused walls.

“My ass.” You moan, teeth bared as you try to breathe through your impending orgasm. “I asked him to spit on my ass.” You pant the answer, ”Cause you never wanted to.”

Soap’s laugh is boisterous, vindictive and loud, and he obliges you, finally, spitting at the furl of your asshole. The sensation makes you shiver, and you clench down on him, nearly wailing when your best friend’s thumb begins rubbing insistently at the rim of your hole, spreading his spit with purpose.

“Think I can get my thumb in there?” He huffs, and bends over, his chest blanketing your back so his face is in the camera too. Soap drags the very tip of her tongue over the shell of your ear, biting down softly on your earlobe, sucking at the skin beneath it before he addresses the lens this time, “Whaddya say, Leo? Think I can get my thumb in ‘er?” He rubs his forehead against the nape of your neck before levering back up, out of frame. “I think I can.” He murmurs happily, pressing the pad of the digit against your hole, quietly urging you to push against him, to breathe easy, until you part around the finger. Your whole body just melts as you get used to it, being full. Johnny begins moving again, stroking you deep then grinding inside you, rubbing his hands over your sides, squeezing, groping, touching like he can’t believe you’re here. Like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

He wiggles his thumb, pulling it to the side so he can stare at how he’s filled you completely. You can practically hear him ruminating on how he was going to convince you to let him fuck you there, stretch your ass open and spill his seed where no one had before. Lay an irrefutable claim.

Or maybe that was just you.

Honestly, it really didn’t matter because the pace at which Soap is pistoning into you, making your cunt weep, made every little thought that managed to grow in your mind die almost instantaneously.

"Mm...Johnny, I'm close" you grab at the hand he has anchored to your waist. The hair on his thighs rubs against you, the friction and the feel of his balls slapping against your clit speeding you towards an orgasm for the fucking record books. And contrary to Soap's posturing, you didn't fake orgasms, who the fuck had time for that? However, the ones Leo occasionally gave you were nothing like what you felt coming. You struggled not to bite your tongue clean off as ecstasy shot through you, your breath stalling in your lungs. You flee forward when Soap presses his thumb into your ass as far as it could go, pulling his unoccupied hand out of yours so he could rub tight circles over the hood of your clit. It's too much, gratification and sensation and reckless fucking pleasure.

Look at you, running from dick. Who'da thunk it?

"Oh that's not happening." Johnny rasps, breaking his own rhythm once, then twice, abandoning your clit to pull you back onto him. "Take it. Let him see how you take it." Another, smaller, climax tears through your last bit of restraint, all caught on digital film, and you drop your head and scream, muffled by pillows while Soap gives in and comes inside you, throwing his head back, groaning at your ceiling, or God, maybe.

Either's as likely.

When he pulls out, there's a fleeting moment of silence interrupted only by the sound of synchronized heavy breathing. 

Soap bends forward again, this time grabbing your shoulders and pulling you up and against his chest, knocking your legs apart with his hand so the camera can focus on his cum leaking out of you, dripping thick and slow for the benefit of your future audience. He turns your face by your chin, pressing his mouth to yours, further flooding your senses. When his tongue traces over yours, you can literally feel you and Johnny pass the point of no return. 

“Turn it off.” Soap nods to the phone again, and you have to shake your head twice and kiss him three times before you feel cognizant enough to understand what he’s asking. You can’t stop yourself from smiling facetiously into the tiny lens before you end the recording. 

“Give it here.” 

You pass him the phone, staring at the lock screen, a half decade old photo of you and Soap in a matching halloween costume, Johnny dressed like an angel and you his complicit devil, your arms wrapped around each other. 

Leo had hated it.

“Aaaaand send.” Soap sing-songs, tapping at the screen of your phone a few times before he chucks the device to the floor, ignoring your indignant yelp of protest. “How long do you think we have before he opens it?” 

“Long enough for you to eat me out?” You flop back on your bed, propped up on your bent elbows. 

“Then we’d best get started.”

Soap barely gets the chance to touch his tongue to your clit when your phone starts to buzz furiously.

god i hope this anon sees this, i started working on it the day they requested it but totally forgot it was FOR someone and got stuck in my perfectionist k-hole.

support city girls with spit kinks, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

[tojisun]

currently obsessed with biker!simon!!!! how do you think he and reader met? i think, whatever the situation was, he was the one that couldn't get his eyes off her and started to bluntly stare??? maybe soap was with him and laughed bc he had never saw him get this serious about any girl he had laid his eyes on 😫😫😫😫

BAE I WENT FERAL WHEN I READ THIS BECAUSE YEAH!!! YEAH

ok so this is gonna be ridiculous but bear with me because im actually so obsessed with biker!simon im unwell

simon prefers using his bike whenever he’s out with his friends. there’s no use taking his car, anyway. not with kyle hitching a ride with john, and johnny taking his own car on the few occasions that he does bring someone home with him.

simon’s never had to take those things into account because he preferred a quiet end to his nights, anyway. just a shot of bourbon and a short dinner with his friends, and then he’s back on the road and on his way home.

so he’s never had regrets with taking his bike. until today, of course.

he’s noticed you since you walked into the bar with your friends, your arm hooked around one of them and your head tilted to hear them better. the others who are not engaged in a discussion with you whipped their heads around to find an empty booth and simon almost crushed his glass at the way his heart leapt when he realized that the closest empty booth in the place was the one directly beside his group’s. 

simon watched as your group moved closer, the chatter finally piercing his ears and, unconsciously, his body turned to hear you better. from in front of him, johnny’s pinched lips finally wobbled as he wheezed out a laugh, breaking simon’s focus.

“what?” simon barked out, feeling warmth creep up from his neck to his ears, half of his mind focused on the group settling behind him. 

“holy shit,” johnny said mid-laughter. “you don’t know anythin’ about subtlety.”

simon grumbled then, in denial, but now he just fully stopped caring.

somehow, as the night progressed, simon gravitated towards the seat facing yours, a spot where he had a clear vantage view of you. he’s taken advantage of the change in seating, devouring the sight you make as you giggled with your friends. devouring the change in atmosphere, now that you’ve begun to return his heated looks.

it started with curious looks, born from your friend whispering to you how simon was staring; how, throughout the night, he did not entertain all those who went up beside him and focused only on you. then your gaze shifted into something scalding. something that sent liquid fire warming simon from the pit of his stomach to the back of his spine.

mactavish sighs beside him. “just buy the lass a drink already.”

simon peels his eyes away from you to look at johnny, mulling over the suggestion before grunting out a thanks. he stands up and walks to the bar, calling out to get the bartender’s attention.

remembering the bellini that you’ve been nursing since you got here, simon asks for another flute of the cocktail and requests that it be served to you. he turns when he says this, hoping to give the bartender a clear view of who the bellini is for only to blink in surprise when he sees you standing just a few feet away from him.

“sir?” the man behind the counter asks.

“sorry. just serve it here,” simon replies, his eyes still on you. there is shuffling behind him, the bartender probably leaving to whip up his order, but simon honestly doesn’t care anymore.

not when you finally shuffle close, a shy smile dancing on your lips.

“hello,” you greet, voice a hesitant whisper, and simon feels like he’s been gutted.

you’re so goddamn beautiful, it’s catastrophic. 

simon thinks of how short you are, something he’s first noticed the moment you walked into the bar. it’s not like he’s surprised by the realization given that he tends to tower over anyone ever since he hit his growth spurt, but there is something unfurling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes how perfectly you fit in his arms. how easy it would be to just tuck you underneath his chin and slot himself around you. 

“hey,” he finally replies, his eyes roving along your features, trying to memorize the shimmer of your lips. the long wisps of your lashes. “‘m simon.”

you giggle, introducing yourself shyly, and the sound of your laughter tickles his ears, making him weak to his knees. he mouths your name, testing it out for himself and preening when it rolls off his tongue with ease. like your name is something simon is supposed to always call. 

his new favourite word.

“sorry,” you say, lifting your hand like you want to reach out and touch him, only for you to snuff out the action in your anxiousness. “i don’t, uh, come up to people i find attractive so this is really making me nervous.”

simon is aware of how good he looks – he’s proud of it even – but there is something about a pretty darling like you admitting how his looks make you nervous that sparks the desire in him to transform into something more carnal.

something more visceral.

he reaches his hand out toward you, inviting you to finally close the remaining distance between you two, and smiles when you take the offer, placing your hand on top of his palm, sending goosebumps to rise across his skin. you step into his space and simon has to stop himself from breathing you in, afraid how he’ll end up reacting when he’s taken a whiff of your intoxicating scent. 

“i’ve ordered you a drink,” simon whispers, his voice a hoarse croak.

“oh,” you mumble. “thank you...”

he notes the hesitation in your words, the bubble in his chest popping as his worry extinguishes his burning desire. “you don’t have to drink it.”

“no!” 

he startles at your reaction, his wide eyes staring back at your equally shocked ones. 

it takes a heartbeat before the two of you are breaking off into choked laughter, your body angled to muffle your giggles on the sleeves of his sweater. simon’s heart clenches at the cute display and he curls his arms around you, pulling you close until your head is pressed on his chest.

he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

it takes a while for the laughter to fizzle out, leaving you putty in his arms, your chin digging into his chest as you gaze up at him. simon eagerly returns your stare, his lips stretched into the softest of smiles now that he has you in his arms. he brushes your hair away from your face, warmth exploding in his chest at your happy little sigh.

“wanna leave this place with you,” you tell him and simon trembles with need. 

because he wants you to come home with him too. wants to show you how a sweetheart like you deserves to be treated. how you deserve to be cherished and pampered and revered. 

then, he remembers his goddamn harley. 

fuck. 

wait. now that he thinks about it-

“is there something wrong?” you ask, face creasing in worry at seeing his frown. 

“don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” simon replies, his mind already mapping out the roads to his place. “lemme just grab my keys while you drink up, yeah?”

you nod softly, eyes fluttering close when simon leans forward to press his lips on the top of your head, before stepping away from your warmth. he watches the way you ambled towards the bar counter, carefully picking up your new flute of bellini before turning to show him that adorable little smile that simon’s starting to be addicted to and taking a small sip of your cocktail.

the wrap of your pretty lips around the straw shouldn’t stir something so carnal in him but it does and simon gulps, well aware of the sudden thirst that sucked the moisture from his throat, before turning to march towards his table.

johnny whistles out loud when simon reaches them, tipping his new glass of beer and whooping even when kyle growls how he’s being too loud. simon would’ve sided with garrick, but his patience is running thin and the need that is raging within him is gaining strength so he ignores them both to stand beside johnny.

“keys.”

“what?”

“mactavish, give me your keys.”

“...why?”

simon holds in a sigh as he watches kyle reach over to smack johnny on the back of his head. “what the hell do you think?” 

john continues to ignore the group, his eyes trained somewhere on the dance floor. traitor, simon thinks. 

“oh,” johnny whispers. “oh!” 

he tries not to tap his foot as johnny grapples with his trousers, hitting his elbows on the edge of the table and angrily cursing in scottish, before finally fishing them out of the depths of his pockets and presenting them to simon. simon takes them with urgency, almost ripping them from johnny’s fingers, before throwing the keys of his harley to johnny and barking out his thanks.

“use protection!” johnny screams because of course he would. he’s a fucking bastard.

simon flips him off as he marches back towards you. 

you look up at hearing him call your name, your beautiful face glowing as you smile at him again.

god, he’ll never tire of seeing your pretty smile.

“ready?” he asks, masking the excitable tremble of his voice with a quick cough.

“mhmm!” you reply, putting down your half-empty cocktail and clambering beside simon’s side. he presses another kiss on the top of your head, this time no longer holding back as he breathes you in, and leads you out towards johnny’s car.

next time, he’ll take you out for a bike ride. 

because simon promises that there will be a next time.

starting to think if i might need a masterlist for biker!simon atp // edit: mlist!

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 3 - Pet Play

Ghost x Soap, Gaz x F!Reader, Soap x F!Reader - 3.7k (on ao3)

summary: Gaz and Ghost have an arrangement that allows their pets to get out some restless energy with one another. (Reader POV)

cw: puppy play, kitten play, muzzles, bondage (armbinder, handcuffs), leash, rough sex, reader is consenting but lowkey pretending she's not into it (she has a safeword but it's not mentioned in the drabble), degradation, exhibitionism

“Hey, Kyle,” Simon says, the door held open for Gaz to guide you through. “Brought the girl?”

“Course, mate,” your boyfriend laughs, one big hand snagging the hem of your sleeve and tugging you out from behind him. “You know her, she’s just bein’ shy.”

Your heart beats a little more quickly when Ghost just hums, looking you up and down with dark eyes. Kyle’s jacket covers your entire body, the long tan trench coat making you look just like the hooker you feel like tonight. The feeling of the material on your mostly-naked skin keeps you just on edge enough to hover around Kyle’s back, Simon's presence only making you more nervous. 

“‘S that them?” A voice calls out from further in the house, and you can’t help but wince at the loud and quick footsteps as Soap runs to the entryway. He nearly stumbles to a stop when he appears in the doorway, too ridiculously large and broad to look anything but clumsy. His wrists are hooked to the collar around his throat, hands wrapped in black mitts and hanging loose over his chest, and he can’t quite keep his balance without leaning a shoulder against the doorway.

Other than the collar and the wire muzzle strapped to his face, he’s naked as the day he was born, cock hard and dripping between his thighs. You shift a bit, can't help imagining what he'd taste like if you were allowed to use your mouth tonight.

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Ghost gruffs, taking a puff from his cigarette and locking the front door behind you. Your nose curls beneath your muzzle at the smell of smoke, thankful that he snuffs it out a moment later. 

“Hey, Tav,” Gaz greets, nodding at Soap instead of stepping forward for a bro hug like he usually would. He wraps an arm around your shoulders instead, leading you further into the cabin with Ghost at your back and Soap eagerly turning to lead the three of you to the living room, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He looks silly with his hands locked like they are, but you know that's the point.

None of them try to speak to you, the black mask covering half of your face making it obvious that you couldn’t respond even if you wanted – that, and none of you are under any illusions of who’s role is what tonight, and yours has been the same since the four of you started playing around like this.

Johnny’s still got his freedom to speak, though, even with the wire muzzle strapped to his face. You’re thankful that he won’t be able to get his teeth into you this time, but a spiteful part of you wishes Ghost would’ve just shut him up fully instead. Johnny can get mean when he’s got his cock stuffed to the hilt inside a warm hole.

(You like it, is the thing, but you’d never admit it – Johnny’s insufferable enough with Ghost as a partner, and you’ve never met someone meaner and quicker to humble. You’re sure if you gave him even the slightest compliment, he’d somehow become a smug monster.)

Gaz shifts one hand to the base of your neck as he guides you behind Johnny and into the living room, where the couch and coffee table have been shoved against the walls to make room for you and Johnny. Ghost heads straight to what you’ve come to know as his chair, the seat of it sunken in from his weight and a beer already resting in the built-in cup holder. Soap follows him and kneels in front of his legs as soon as Simon settles, twisted to watch you and Gaz.

Kyle is sweet when he takes his jacket off of you, tugging it off slowly so you’re not exposed to the cool air too suddenly, calloused fingertips petting your skin.

“There we are, pretty,” he hums, tossing the jacket carelessly to the side and caressing your hips. “Gonna let Johnny have fun with you?”

You lean your head back, exposing your throat so you can nose at his jaw through your muzzle, trying to convey yes, but only for you without words. The little bell around your neck tinkles with the movement, the metal warmed by your skin.

Johnny moans aloud when your half-naked form is fully revealed, knees spreading as he sinks even lower, cock nearly brushing the floor. Your cheeks heat as you follow the way his eyes trace over your body, just as eager as he was the first time you did this.

You were fully naked then, but now Kyle’s dressed you up in what has to be the most girly lingerie he could find. The bralette provides no support whatsoever for your chest, but you have to admit that the white lace covering your nipples and cupping your breasts is pretty. The bows on the garters and panties were a nice touch, too, adding to the hyper-femininity of the overall look that you know Kyle loves. He let you keep the makeup from your face though, knowing how much you hate the feeling of streaky mascara.

Your arms are tied together straight in front of your body, with enough slack that you can fold them in half but not so much that you have anywhere near full movement. Kyle had spent almost an hour meticulously tying little white ribbons around the rope, kissing your arms as he went and making sure he had you exactly as immobile as he wanted.

The muzzle over your mouth is a clean white leather, something that Kyle works hard to keep clean and pristine, and it's fitted to the bottom half of your face. The gag in your mouth is small and non-invasive, allowing you to make as much noise as you want but keeping you from saying anything – that would ruin the fantasy. The gag causes plenty of spit to gather beneath your tongue, and every time you swallow you can feel your lightweight collar press against your throat, the little bell attached shifting with even the most minute movement. 

The resulting look – the rope, the bows, the lace, the muzzle – is one that you love, even if it does make you feel like a doll being dressed up for someone else’s approval. You’re happy to get it in this case, when you know that Johnny will enjoy the look just as much as Kyle does and be all the more eager for you.

Ghost appreciates your appearance too, if his hum and the smirk lifting his lips is anything to go by.

Kyle presses a kiss to your shoulder as he lingers behind you, running his hands over the lace wrapping each of your curves, toying with the ribbons. “Like what you see, Si?”

Simon hums again, shifting further in his seat and spreading his knees, a king on his worn leather throne. “Sure. ‘S not gonna last long, though, not with this mutt.” He snorts, one booted foot knocking against Johnny’s naked thigh. “You know how he gets.”

Kyle laughs, warm breath puffing against your naked shoulder, then moves towards the couch, leaving you alone in the middle of the room, unsteady in your heels. You try to instinctively follow him, unsteady without your arms to balance.

He holds you with one hand for a moment, steadying you just enough so you don’t fall before moving away again. “You’re alright, love, just stay there for a second.”

You track him intently, feeling incredibly vulnerable without him at your side. He’s got a calm confident about him as he settles onto the couch, smiling at you and giving you enough comfort that you don’t quite melt into a puddle. You can’t keep yourself from shifting nervously, but your heartbeat is steady.

“We ready then?” Kyle asks once he’s comfortable, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“Hm,” Simon hums, shifting forward to lock a hand in Johnny’s collar where the chain connecting his hands is still locked. “Get on your knees, girl.”

Your eyes dart to Kyle’s, and at his nod and reassuring smile you take a deep breath, settling into your skin a bit.

It takes quite a bit of balance to sink to the floor without falling, trussed up as you are, but you manage it. The fact that you can bend your elbows helps tremendously, and you’re thankful for Kyle’s foresight. 

You hesitate for a moment on your knees, taking a few steadying breaths and making sure you're not pushing yourself too quickly. You let your eyes linger on each of the other men, sizing them up, then begin to shift even lower.

Soap moans loudly when you sink to your stomach, back arched and ass pushed in the air with your arms laid out flat in front of you. You watch him carefully, face pressed to your arms as you settle as much as you can against the plush rug. 

Johnny’s panting open-mouthed behind the muzzle, pupils already blown and cock kicking against his thigh. His hands keep twitching above his chest, like he’s tugging against the chain keeping him caught. You’re certain that if Ghost weren’t holding him, he’d already be on top of you and shoving himself deep even without hands to guide him.

“Pretty girl,” you hear Gaz coo, and when you glance at him you see he’s pressing the heel of his hand to the tent in his pants. “You gonna let your boy go anytime soon?”

“Please,” Johnny pants, wiggling towards you as much as he can.

“Easy,” Ghost scolds, yanking Johnny closer as he unclips the chain leash from his belt, metal jingling. “Trust me, Garrick, you don’t want him havin’ free-rein with the mood he’s in.”

You mewl behind the gag, but it goes unheard. Johnny certainly doesn’t miss the way you wiggle your ass though, eyes trained on the lace cupping you perfectly.

“Fuck, sir, c’mon,” he moans, turned to face you fully and straining to get as close as he can.

Ghost only grunts as he yanks Johnny back, forcing him to fall back against his legs and clipping his leash to the D-ring on the back of Soap’s collar, holding it tight to keep the pup from moving forward.

“You want to actually use your paws or not?” He growls, grabbing the chain connecting Johnny’s mitts to his collar and yanking, nearly sending the man to the ground. “Huh?”

“Yes, yes, c’mon, lemme touch her, sir, please–”

“What do you think, Gaz?” Simon asks, eyes trained on your form as you shift against the floor. “Want him touchin’ your pretty kitty? He might fuck her up.”

You mewl again, just barely audible, and Johnny moans like he’s already coming.

Gaz hums, stroking himself slowly over his pants. "Leave the mitts on,” he decides. “I like what she’s wearing, don’t want it ruined because one mutt can’t control himself.”

You know Johnny’s already sunk decently far into his headspace because he doesn’t respond to that even though his mouth's free, just continues to wriggle in Simon’s hold with his focus centered solely on you. 

“Fair enough,” Ghost says, tone near a laugh. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that set again, myself.” He shakes Johnny a bit, the leash’s links jingling loudly. “How about it, pup? Want to get dressed up all pretty for me?”

Johnny’s eyes nearly roll back in his head as he moans, and you’re momentarily concerned he’s going to come before he can even properly fuck you. 

You shift against the floor to try and encourage Simon to just let go, shifting your knees apart so that you’re exposed more fully, the crotchless panties letting air brush over where you’re most sensitive. 

Johnny’s whine is nearly drowned out by Simon’s laugh, and he’s unhooking the chain keeping Soap’s hands tied in the next moment.

You can hardly blink before Johnny’s on you, his heat enveloping you entirely as he throws himself over your back, hard cock already pressed against your folds. 

Your arousal coats him immediately, and the two of you moan in sync at the feeling, his sound vibrating through your back and yours silenced by the soft gag in your mouth. His mitted hands rest on either side of your head, and the wire muzzle digs into your cheek as he tries his best to kiss you.

“Pretty, pretty,” he slurs, voice lower than it was just a few minutes ago. “Such a pretty kitty, all for me, yeah? Just for me.”

There’s a loud clink sound, and Johnny’s head jerks away from yours as he chokes.

“Not yours,” Gaz reminds as Ghost keeps Johnny from pressing back to you fully. “Just cause I let you fuck her doesn’t mean she belongs to you, puppy.”

You can just barely see Johnny’s scowl out of the corner of your eyes, your vision slightly blurred from tears as you wait impatiently for what you know comes next.

“Fuck, fine, Christ,” Johnny grumbles, and a moment later he’s back on you fully, tracing the muzzle over your shoulders. You know that if it weren’t there, you’d already have bruises slowly taking shape all over the column of your neck, and say a silent thank you to Ghost for sparing you the soreness. 

Johnny ruts against you steadily for as long as you know he can handle, his thick cock hot against you. You writhe as best you can beneath him, but you’ve got almost no room to move with your arms bound as they are and Johnny’s weight holding you down.

“Can I fuck her, then?” He says, voice rough as the head of his cock brushes your clit. “C’mon, let me make her a mess, yeah? Shit, Gaz, she fuckin’ needs me, lemme fuck her, please–”

Gaz’s laugh is warm but Ghost’s is mean, and even you can’t help but melt a bit at the sound, trying to sink into the carpet.

“You should be askin’ me, mutt,” Simon says, yanking again on the leash so that Johnny’s head is tugged away from yours. “Gaz already gave you the girl, ‘s me you ask if you want to use that little prick.”

“Ghost, Ghost, c’mon, sir,” Johnny pants, and you can’t help but arch and press your hips back against him, just as desperate as he is. “I’ve been good, ye said so – I’ll fuck her good, promise, give ye a good show an’ everythin’, just let me- fuck, need to fuck her, cannae breathe, Si, just lemme–”

“Fine, fine,” Ghost finally says, tugging his cock from his pants as he lets the leash fall limp in his grasp and gives Johnny near freedom. “Pathetic thing, aren’t you?”

Anything else either Simon or Kyle says is lost to you, your ears ringing when you go from painfully empty to amazingly full, your cunt spread wide around Johnny in one breath.

He growls when he can’t bury himself to the hilt in one thrust, your walls clenching tight around him and desperately trying to accommodate his length. Kyle had just barely prepped you – just enough so you wouldn’t be seriously hurt, not enough to make this easy – and you can feel the lack of it now, hole stinging.

Your breath is stolen when, what feels like just a moment later, Johnny jerks back then sinks himself fully inside of you, balls resting against your clit. You’re glad the muzzle is breathable, because your lungs are spasming as your entire system is rocked, desperately trying to accommodate the sudden rush of pleasure, then need.

You can’t help the way tears stream down your cheeks as Johnny starts to truly fuck you, completely disregarding any need you might have to adjust to the stretch of his cock inside of you, immediately bullying himself into you again and again. The rush you get from going from almost no sensation to this is one you adore, and you try your best to fuck back on Johnny with what little leverage you have.

Your nails scratch desperately at the carpet, wide eyes locked onto Gaz as you’re relentlessly fucked, again and again. He’s fished his own cock out of his pants, sitting up straight and leaning towards you as he jacks himself with quick, smooth tugs. You nearly go cross-eyed trying to focus on his length, face bouncing against your tied arms and blurring your vision even further.

“Damn,” you hear Ghost grunt, voice so low you can barely hear it. “Look’it that, Garrick.”

“I see,” your boyfriend purrs, and you melt all the more at the sound of his voice, Johnny’s pace finally shifting onto the right side of too much, the burn in your hole shifting from pain to pleasure. “Your boy is wreckin’ her good, sir.”

“‘S what he’s trained for,” Ghost says, and Johnny moans. You can feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, and your orgasm is so close you can taste it.

Johnny doesn’t talk much as he fucks you this time, but he never does once he actually gets inside of you – he gets drunk on your cunt, always has, gets drooly and melty over you, thinking of nothing but his own pleasure. Lucky for you, the way your cunt spasms around him as you come is usually the fastest way for him to trigger his own orgasm. 

That’s what you know he’s chasing now, as he bullies his cockhead against your g-spot again and again, one hand pressing on your shoulder to keep you held in a steep arch, his precision impressive considering he’s far past words and has been reduced to nothing but growls and moans. 

Your moans escalate to squeals as you squirm against the floor, the lace of your bra rubbing perfectly against your nipples and your fingers twisting into the fibers of the carpet. You can feel the lines pressed into your back from where Johnny’s shoved his face against you, trying to get his mouth as close to your skin as possible. Instead of hickies you get spit, drool smeared all across your shoulder blades and neck. 

You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips when it finally hits you, your orgasm shuddering through every limb as you convulse on the floor. Your cunt squeezes Johnny tightly, making him feel even larger inside of you as you scream through the gag. 

Your vision whites out as Johnny fucks you even harder, free arm wrapping around your neck and hauling you as close to him as possible. He has to work to fuck in and out of you now, your body doing it's best to keep him still.

His muzzle presses into your cheek as he holds his face next to yours, both of you sweaty and hot as he uses you for his pleasure, clawing closer and closer to a peak you’re already floating blissfully on. His bicep flexed around your neck and your eyes roll back in your head at the display of strength, mindless with pleasure.

Your collar tingles delightfully as you’re jerked against Johnny with every thrust, melting into the music of Johnny’s moans and Kyle and Simon’s hands against their own cocks - Ghost is silent but you can hear Kyle moaning, always vocal when he's close.

You’re still blinking the stars from your eyes when you feel Johnny’s cum spurt inside of you, cock jerking as the man himself melting into a puddle over your lax body and humps you slowly.

Your eyes are half-lidded as he rides his own orgasm, sweat-slick and sticky as you float in the after of getting fucked rough and raw, a cock still plugging you for your hole to milk.

You can feel Johnny panting against your neck as he slowly comes down himself, running his paws over your sides once he lets his arm fall away from your neck. You’re pressed flat to the rug, his weight almost suffocating when he isn’t bothering to hold himself up. 

You manage to open your eyes just in time to see Kyle come, the edges of your vision still blurred as he paints his own palm white. You’re yourself enough to whine, always sad to see his come go to waste when you could taste it or feel it painting your insides. Kyle’s smiling even as he shudders through his orgasm, like he knows just what you’re thinking and how badly you wish you could crawl to him and make it a reality.

But you’re firmly pinned beneath Johnny, even when he lifts his hips just enough to let his cock slip from you before dropping his weight again so you’re pressed entirely against one another. 

Simon is the last to come, though he does so silently and you miss the exact moment he finally finishes – you only know because Johnny moans against you, hips rocking like he’s the one getting off, not another man nearly six feet away. Your eyes are already heavy by then, and you don’t bother looking over to see Ghost finish himself off, he’s never been the one you’re here for.

It’s several long moments before anything changes, and by then you’re nearly half-asleep. You’re distantly aware of Johnny either pulling away or being pulled away, even more aware of the unpleasant chill to your skin when your sweat and spit soaked back is left naked. You hear Gaz coo and feel his arms wrapping around you, leaving the soft rug slowly and behind lifted into his arms.

You purr softly, arms folded up to rest your hands beneath your chin, curling as far into Kyle’s arms as you can.

“Hush, kitty,” he whispers, settling back onto the couch with you on his lap. You press your face into the underside of his jaw, collar softly jingling. “You did so well for us, put on such a pretty show.”

“I was half of it,” you hear Johnny slur, his voice muffled, always the fastest to recover and get himself ready for round two.

“Hush,” Ghost scolds, and for once, Johnny obeys.

Gaz laughs softly, and you smile beneath the muzzle as you relax fully into his arms, warm and content as he holds you.

[charliemwrites]

Woo woo woo snarf

Content: Privacy Invasion, Voyeurism, Possessive Behavior, Non-Con Touching, Dirty Talk

Things have been… wrong around the house. It’s been a slow escalation, a proverbial boiling of the frog. Glasses in the dish washer when you thought you left them in the sink. Blankets you left in a heap neatly folded. Food missing from the fridge and misplaced laundry.

Things you could write off as forgetfulness, as thoughtless habits borne of living alone for so long.

That is… until the t-shirt. It’s very clearly a man’s. Just… a white undershirt. But it’s not your size and smells unfamiliar even after a wash with your own clothes - like cologne or aftershave. Masculine.

Until the boot prints in the snow outside your house, still just visible even after Johnny unknowingly bounds through it.

Your mind scrambles to excuse it.

The t-shirt could be your ex’s. You did just pull out the winter gear; it could be left over from last year, something you didn’t manage to weed out. (Even if it smells nothing like your ex. Smells…. better.)

And you’re not far from some pretty popular hiking trails. Hikers sometimes pass through your yard. (Thought they never come that close to the house…. especially not since you got Johnny)

Johnny’s the only reason you haven’t gone full paranoid. He’s so protective, you can’t imagine anyone getting close to, never mind in, the house without him making a huge, bloody fuss.

Probably just cabin fever, you tell yourself. You need to go out more. Reach out to the friends you don’t see enough.

Johnny seems restless the first time you start dressing for a night out. You soothe him with a big hug.

“I’m just going to see Sarah and Mel. You like them, baby.” His ears perk, head tilting at the familiar names. You smile and press a kiss to the very top of his nose. “Next time I’ll have them come see you.”

When you come home, he’s torn up your favorite “date night” dress. You groan and scold him, but still allow him to plaster himself to your side when you climb into bed.

The next time you go out with them, you see a semi-familiar face in the little low-key bar. Soap. Can’t believe you remember his name months later, but then again he’s difficult to forget. Seared into your mind like a warning and a temptation. End up staring at him a little too hard, shocked to see him in the bar you and your friends have picked.

When he catches you looking, he grins like you’re an old friend, tips his head and his beer with a wink. Your friends notice, encourage you to say hi. But you wave them off, blushing, and they understand your introversion enough not to push.

He still manages to corner you when you go to the restroom. (Alone, for fucks sake. You should know better). All you see is a shadow in the hall, backlit by the bar. When you shift closer to the wall to let them pass, they turn and nearly pin you.

“Fancy seein’ you again,” a deep Scottish brogue rumbles. Too close to your ear; the bar music isn’t nearly loud enough to excuse it. “Out with your sister again?”

It takes you a second to recover, a bit shocked that he really does remember you. And far, far too aware of how close he’s standing, the heat of his body seeping into you.

“A couple friends, actually.”

“Still no boyfriend, eh? That pup o’ yours still a maneater like his owner?”

Your mouth drops open, offended and befuddled in equal measures.

“Wha— well, yes, he is. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He chuckles, eyes twinkling in the shadows. Amused and just a touch condescending. Your face floods with heat as he braces his arm on the wall above your head. He smells good, too good. Familiar?

“Prefer pussy m’self,” he says, “but most animals love me. Bet I could win you both over.”

You make an audible “agh!” noise, embarrassed by the crassness.

“Who says that?!” you protest.

He keeps talking, like you’ve said nothing at all.

“Promise I’d get your kitty purrin’ nice and loud if I pet ‘er,” he says, voice low and rough. “Play with ‘er all sweet like. Might even give ‘er a little kiss…”

The alcohol and having your friends nearby makes you brave.

“Not on your life.”

Again, he chuckles, fingers of his other hand skimming your side.

“Never say never, hen.”

You bite back a telling gasp. God it’s been way too long if you’re getting keyed up by this creep barely touching you.

It’s only because he’s sinfully hot and your pussy is a shallow bitch, you tell yourself.

“My friends are missing me,” you say, trying to extricate yourself.

He hums, steps closer before you can wriggle away, nearly pancaking you to the wall.

“I’m missing you.”

“You don’t know me enough to miss me,” you snort and push against his chest. He’s thick. Firm with conditioned muscle, broader than you realized in the dim - nearly dark - hall by the bathroom. If he didn’t want to move, you couldn’t make him.

But he finally relents, sidling a step back.

“Give me a chance to? Here.”

You don’t know where he gets a pen from, and he moves far too fast for you to stop before he’s tugging your shirt aside. You don’t know where he got a marker from but you feel the rough drag of it across your collarbone, the sting of it in your nose.

“Call me sometime and I’ll make good on my offer.”

He caps the pen, drops a kiss on your cheek like it’s his right, and swagger off - presumably to the restroom.

You scurry back your table, careful to hide whatever he wrote on your skin. It feels like it burns for the rest of the night until you get home.

Johnny greets you at the door with a huge canine smile. Again, focusing on all the spots where soap touched you. Unlike his usual reaction to the scent of unfamiliar men lingering on you, Johnny’s tail wags. You huff.

“Don’t you dare prove him right,” you huff, sidestepping your overgrown teddy bear to go to the bathroom. Your tug your shirt aside and stare at the phone number scrawled across your skin. There’s even a cheeky little heart at the end.

Johnny’s followed you, per usual, and you meet his eyes seriously.

“I know I told you that you’re only allowed to bite my ex….. but I might make an exception for a little nip.”

Johnny tilts his head as you begin stripping down, grumbling under your breath.

“Men like him shouldn’t be allowed to know how attractive they are. It’s fucking criminal.”

You start up the shower, about to step in, only for Johnny to start whining and crying. So loud and raucous that you almost think he’s been injured somehow. But no, he just staring up at you mournfully, ears back and tail down.

“Big baby,” you mock-scold, “what’s the matter, huh? You need me to keep you company while you potty?”

Johnny just keeps whining and crying so you roll your eyes and climb in, ignoring how he goes up in pitch. You scrub at the phone number aggressively, but even then the permanent marker has soaked into your skin and left a stain.

“Mother fucker…” you can barely hear yourself over Johnny. You finish up and whip the curtain open, hands on your hips. It must startle him because he pauses to stare.

“It’s a lot, bud. A lot,” you scold. “Too much, even.”

He subsides with one last grumble and seems to sulk for the rest of the night. Won’t even let himself be bribed with a treat. When you climb into bed with him, he faces away from you (even though he’s still plastered to your side).

“So dramatic,” you sigh affectionately, burying your face in his coat. He smells like pine. “It’s okay, though, big guy. You’re still the only one for me.”

In the morning, you find Soap’s number scrawled on a sticky note. Huh, you must have been a little tipsier than you thought.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[beloveds-embrace]

part two of dukedom!141 . please dont ask why johnny and simon aren't in it and why itss end is so abrupt bc tumblr fucked me over twice while trying to save it 😭😭

You could have never expected this. When you had come to your darling husband with your request, you hadn’t known what to expect at all. But you could have never expected this.

“Are you awake, my Duchess?”

My Duchess. Such a simple thing, even used before, but now it rang so differently in your ears. You don’t want to turn around and face John, but he doesn’t give you the choice.

The hands on your waist, on the hand-shaped bruises lining your hips, gently turn you around on the bed so that your bare chest is pressed against John’s. You believe the quilts on top of the both of you are unnecessary, because you, yourself, are already running hotter than a furnace and you wonder if he feels it.

“John…”

“My Duchess.” He sighs again, leaning down to kiss your neck, the soft skin littered with hickeys. Distantly, you make note of the fact that you are clean and wearing fresh undergarments, as is John. He must have cleaned the both of you after last night…

Last night. Just thinking about it is making you feel even warmer, burying your face in John’s broad shoulders even as he hums and continues to trail kisses up your jaw.

How were you supposed to know that your husband is one, big, jealous bastard who is simply too good at hiding it?

“…I feel as if there has been a misunderstanding, darling,” John had said to you, after Kyle had silently dismissed himself and John had rounded the table to kneel in front of your shocked self. Taking your hands in his, he had stared at you with his full attention. “You have been unsatisfied, and I failed to see it. I apologize, wife.”

“John, what-“

“I feel as if I’ve failed you in general, truthfully,”

“You haven’t! John-“

He kisses the back of your hands, and that silences you. “Wife, have I ever made you feel as if I would not honor your wants and needs?” This time, he waits for you to reply and it takes you a second, blinking down at him.

“…no.”

John’s face twists just so slightly, though you still can’t understand what he’s feeling or thinking. “Then, have I ever made you feel as if I would withhold anything from you?”

“…no, John.”

“Then why go to Graves?” John’s voice lowers to a grumble, his brows furrowing. Such an expression isn’t one you are so used to seeing on him, and you dislike it.

His question makes you pause, biting your lips. You want to close your eyes, ignore the warmth in your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from him for long before you are sighing softly.

“I feel so… bereft, John.” You admit softly, squeezing his hands back. “Bereft of love. You treat me so well, all of you do, but it’s just-… I want to feel love, John.”

John observes you for a little longer, then he speaks. “And you believe Graves loves you?”

“…no.” Though it hurt to admit, you were never one to lie or blind yourself. “He doesn’t, even if he says he can. But he is willing to give me affection and that is far more than I could ever possibly ask of you, John.”

You could tell that Graves saw you simply as an ends to a means he never thought he’d have the opportunity to have. But you were desperate, and you didn’t want to bother John, or cause a controversy that couldn’t be easily hidden. You wanted affection, love, fake as it may be.

The way he viewed you was nothing new to you, of course. You were a tool from the moment you were born; a glorified breeding stock, just one fortunate enough to be born rich. You weren’t meant to be anything more than that but here, you had it all. Almost. What little else you lacked you were sure Graves could give, even if you wished it was-

“But it’s not.”

Eyes widening, you look at him and wait for him to elaborate, thoughts drifting away.

“It’s not far more than you could ask of me, wife.” John tells you. He moves your hands open, kissing your palms. “I understand how you see it now. Did you truly believe that I don’t love you? That Kyle, Johnny, and Simon don’t love you?”

On top of your wide eyes, your jaw now slackens, staring at him in silence. But he is truthful; that much you can easily tell.

“Duchess, you are my Duchess.” John breathes out, now pecking the ring adorning your ring finger. “My wife. I adore you far more than that fool could ever hope to adore you. Had I known this was how you felt, I would have fixed it in a heartbeat so much sooner.”

“What do you mean-“ because surely he doesn’t mean that. Surely he doesn’t mean what you think he means, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to even hope for. No, no, you are misunderstanding it-

“Duchess,” John sighs your name so fondly it leaves you breathless, left stunned in front of him. “If it’s love you want, I will give it to you. If it’s affection and intimacy you want, I will give it to you. Not just me- all of us, my Duchess. But should you still truly want Graves,” and here, John’s face twitches again though this time you can see that it practically pains him to say the words. “Then I will personally make sure no matter what happens, he will not hurt you or besmirch your reputation.”

Silnce follows his words as he waits for you. Your hands are now trembling in his grasp, stomach twisting painfully. You don’t dare to hope, to reach out even if he’s offering what you want and more on a silver platter.

“John…” you whisper out, afraid that speaking any louder will shatter this moment. “John. Do you- do you truly mean it? Please, John-“

“I do, I do. I always will.” He says, again and again and again, hands cupping your face now so you can see the absolute truth in his eyes. At last, he stands up. John doesn’t give you a moment to think before he is scooping you into his embrace, a wicked grin now on his face.

“Now,” he practically purrs, squeezing you close to the hard muscles of his body. Your cheeks are warm anew, unable to look away from your husband. “My wife said she is unsatisfied, no? I ought to fix that, don’t you agree, Duchess?”

“O- oh, but you work-“

“Wife comes first, of course. And perhaps we can consider talking about the little baby name list you’ve been hiding, my dear.”

“John!”

"I have so many meetings today," John groans softly, one hand raising your chin so he can kiss you once, and then twice afterwards. He leans down, burying his face right between your breasts, and after a few seconds of contemplation you begin scratching your nails across his scalp ever so lightly.

The sound he lets out alone is enough to reignite heat in your belly. To think such a handsome man now is yours... several handsome men...

"So many meetings," John repeats with a sigh, his beard pleasantly tickling your skin. Big, warm hands slide down your waist, caressing where your thighs meet your ass, squeezing the soft plush. "I won't have time for lunch today with you, my dear. But my boys will take such good care of you, promise."

You just let him caress you as he pleases; there's something so inherently admiring, devoted, in the way he touched you then and now. You feel so loved under his touch, whyever would you pull away?

Still, you do look down at him. "Are you sure they don't mind... me, John?" You can't help but ask, such a nervous and worrisome thing. John wishes you'd put yourself first just once, but they have plenty of time to show you each how much they love you.

"Yes." He replies easily, chuckling. "Darling, I'm afraid you'll have a harder time prying them off. Now up, I believe Kyle has already prepared a bath for you. He just went to get you an outfit for today. He'll be the one helping you today, if you'd let him, of course."

And oh, what a bath he's prepared for you; candles alight, rose petals delicately strewn around and in the warm, oil-scented steaming water, and Kyle's fingers crooked deep in you while he murmurs of what a lovely, perfect wife you are for them <33

dukedom au masterlist

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 8)

It's not that you didn't like Johnny. He was just as nice as all the others, more charismatic than Price and Ghost, that's for sure. He was gentle with you, and that's nice, very nice... but goddamnit, was he lively.

You had werewolf classmates before, of course you did, and to be honest? They were all the same. Too much energy, too much movement, just... too much. Your only saving grace was that none of them were friends with you, so you didn't deal with their energy directly most of the time.

But now, one of your foster parents is a werewolf.

And... you are not really too excited about that. You follow along the path with him, watching his wagging bushy tail, sharp smile and light gym clothes like he barely feel the cold weather, and... you try to get used to this.

Used to him.

"Aye, and this is our shed!" Johnny smiles, pointing at the the big shed by the side of the house. The wooden door, differently to the doors inside the house, had a high handle and a big lock, making you look at it a bit questionably as Johnny chuckles a little. "Yeah, lass, ye can't go inside the shed alone. Too many dangerous tools."

You nod slightly, not really interested in the shed in the first place. There were houses you have stayed in that wouldn't let you go inside any room besides your bedroom, the bathroom and the living room. You were used to these kind of rules.

"Ye sure you don't wanna play tag, pup?" Johnny asks as he turns to you, clearly excited as his tail wags hard and ears perk up. "It's healthy to exercise! Ah'm sure ye'll like it, aye??"

You don't really answer verbally, but just your conflited expression was enough to make him sigh a little with a smile still on his face.

"'Kay, 'kay, ah get it." He shakes his head slightly, tail calming down a little on all the wagging. "I'll try to follow Kyle's advice." Then, he cups his mouth lightly with his hand, like he's telling a secret, as he whisper-shouts to you. "Lad's the smartest of the bunch, he knows what he's talkin' about!"

You nod slightly at that, a small smile coming to your face. He has a bit of a funny personality.

Just your small, shy smile was enough for him to bite down on his lower lip as he tried to control the deep croon he wanted to let out. God... he wanted to just pick you up and carry you forever. He really thought he wouldn't have a more delicate baby then when his harpy babies were born, but oh God, was he wrong....

You just look soooooo... damn small, and cute, and fragile. You don't move much, you don't look particularly energetic and you are bundled up cutely with layers of warm clothing as you look up at his face with big eyes.

So defenseless. How did humans defend themselves in this world??

He couldn't let you get hurt, ever. You are his resposibility now. His and his pack's responsibility.

And, oh God, were you shivering? You seemed to have curled up a little, was it too cold despite their efforts??

How easily did a human get sick??

He's warm. He's very warm. He could warm you up right away. You got so warm when he curled up with you on the nest, he could do it again...

"I-is everything okay...?" Your little meek voice snapped him out of his instincts for a second, eyes widening as he clears his throat slightly.

"Aye, aye, perfectly fine, wee lass. Come 'ere."

Even tho he told you to come to him, he was the one to come to you and kneel down in front of your small form, big hands coming to your jacket to gently adjust on your body firmly, a focused expression on his face as he checks all your others piece of clothing.

"Is it too cold out 'ere, lassie?" He coos quietly, a small pout coming to his lips naturally. It looked like he was talking to a toddler, and it made you blush a little in embarrassement.

"I-It's fine..." You mumble back, unsure. Yeah, sure, it was a bit cold, but nothing you couldn't take, especially with your new clothes.

He didn't seem very convencied, and quickly, he picked you up on his arms, easily taking you to his chest. You were not that surprised anymore, even if just a little startled, but at least he felt warm...

"Ye see, wee lass... we live a bit farther than the other houses, aye?" He asks as he turns to look back at the rest of the land, a lot of grass in a big, big plot, surrounded by a forest. There was a street not that far from there taking to the rest of the city. "We like lots of space, so our plot comes from all the way from the back of our house to the street up ahead."

That makes you winden your eyes a little, and now that you were in his warm arms, turning your head on his direction made you almost bump noses with him.

"All the way to the street...?" You mumble, almost incredulous.

"Aye! Big plot, yeah? Pride and joy to raise my pups 'ere! And when ye go back to school, we'll use one of our trucks to take ye." He smiles, tilting his head to the side in the direction of a big construction in the distance, hard to see, but you deduced it was where the automobiles were.

Suddenly, his fluffly ears perked up, turning on the direction of the house without him even turning his face. A smile appeared easily on his face as he looked down at you on his arms.

"Mama is calling us back." He snickers as he jokes, making you tilt your head in confusion a bit. "Simon, aye? Actually, both mamas. Even Kyle is starting to get antsy. Best that way, eh, wee pup? Before ye get a cold."

You turn your head over his shoulder to look back at the house, and sure enough, Simon and Kyle were both waiting by the open door as Johnny started to make his way back with you still on his arms.

"Tsc, are you trying to make her get sick?" Simon snarks as soon as you two get close enough to the door, grabbing you from Johnny's arms as he takes you inside quickly.

"We dinae even spend that much time outside!" Johnny protests even tho he still had a smile on his face.

"No, I agree with Si, even I was getting a bit antsy." Kyle sighs, closing the door behind Johnny, making sure to lock it. "I thought it would be fine, but it's cold out, and... ugh, whatever. It's hard to explain." He grunts, shaking his head.

"Nah, I get it." Johnny laughs slightly, watching Simon taking your jacked and beanie off gently as he leads you to the kitchen to eat dinner. "Was getting deep into my instincts and lassie was just... standing still, looking at me with big ol' eyes."

"Next time, we are all going out together." Kyle nods, going back to the kitchen with Johnny right behind him.

[3amfanfiction]

Neighbor Johnny

A new neighbor moved into the house behind yours. He is insistent on being friendly. 2k cw: none

You had a new neighbor, Johnny, who was . . . something else.

He cornered you outside the first time you met him— scaring you half out of your mind.

“Ach lass, dinnae mean ta frighten ye.”

He's handsome, was your first thought, the second—how much you enjoyed the Scottish burr that rolled off his tongue.

As your heart tried to settle back into your chest you turned to face him properly. With a sheepish grin on his face, he had his shoulders hunched forward as if trying to make himself smaller, hands tucked into his blue jeans which clung to his tree-trunk like thighs.

"You're okay, I'm kind of jumpy in general," you laughed shakily, attempting to brush off the fear still lingering in your veins. "Sorry, what was it you asked?"

"I was sayin' I jus' moved into the unit behind ye," he pointed to an apartment that was the mirror image of yours, "and I dinnae ken where's good ta eat. Ye wouldn't happen ta have any suggestions, would ye?" A boyish smile curled up his lips, blue eyes squinting in the sun.

As you asked him what he was in the mood for you never noticed the laser focus he kept on you, taking in your every word, every shift, every breath. Every moment memorized.

///

The next time he bumped into you he was on his way back in from a run and you were taking out the trash.

Of course you would see him again when you were in ratty, baggy shorts and a 2 sizes too big t-shirt with a sauce stain from dinner last night on the collar, the socks in the sandals were the finishing touch on your ensemble.

And then here he came, shirtless in a pair of running shorts, thickly muscled legs leading down to worn-in tennis shoes. You wanted to bite those thighs.

Sweat was dripping down his face when he saw you, eyes lighting up in the early morning air. He course corrected your way, slowing his jog incrementally.

Why was life this unfair?

"Mornin' birdie, aren't ye a vision," smiling ear to ear, he came to a stop right in front of you, lifting a hand up to drag across his face, clearing the beads of sweat. You resolutely ignored looking at his chest, covered in a thick mat of dark, curling hair. It was damp with exertion and you yanked your eyes back up to his when you noticed you were following a droplet as it trailed from behind his ear, running down his neck, past his collar bone—

Hurriedly laughing off his joke you finished tossing the trash into the bin, "Good morning Johnny, I hope everything's been going good?"

Johnny took this as license to begin telling you all about his week, from the grocery store being out of his favorite pastry, I was plumb heartbroken hen, the lady behind the counter gave me tissues when she saw me tearin' up, to his footie team losing the match, and then because of the bet, ye remember, I had ta do the whole course naked as the day I was born. The splinters, ye see—

It was a good 20 minutes before you were able to get away.

"Well," you said, dusting off your hands like you hadn't tossed the garbage bag ages ago, "I don't want to keep you. Have a good one Johnny and I'll talk to you later," you smile as you edged towards your front door, ready to be back in the comfort of your home and away from this ridiculously handsome man who didn't seem to realize how good looking he was.

Or how much he invaded others' space.

“Aye lass, I’ll hold ye ta that,” he allowed, coming in for a damp hug which you returned quickly out of shock. As he stepped back he kept his eyes on yours until he finally turned around.

Creepy.

Almost as creepy as you licking your lips, tasting salt from where they had been pressed up against his shoulder during the hug.

///

It was a few days later when he caught you again, “Running ta the grocery, 's there anythin' ye need?” He was standing at your front door, where he'd knocked great booming thuds against the wood just moments prior.

“Oh no, I’m good, thank you though Johnny," was this weird? Or were you making it weird by thinking it was weird? He was only being neighborly, why are you so against him being friendly? He hasn't done anything wrong.

“Surely there’s somethin' yer runnin' low on," he tries. "Lotion? Batteries? Soap?”

You laughed at the random combination, charmed despite yourself at the sight of his roguish grin and bright eyes.

"As a matter of fact, I did just use the last of my butter this morning," you threw him a bone—allowing him this. You missed the way his face got sharp for a moment before evening back out.

"Aye, I can handle that," orders received, commencing operations.

"I'll be back 'fore ye know it, hen," was tossed out over his shoulder as he headed out, no more flirting, no lingering, no sidelong glances. If you would've known it was this easy to get rid of him you would've sent him on assignments long before now.

You brushed it off and headed inside, door closing with a soft click before you locked it.

///

In no time at all you heard a knock knock coming from the front. Opening the door you're surprised when Johnny breezed right in, as if it was his right.

"Hi hen, I'm back."

You're not sure how he talked his way around seeing your home. He must have a golden tongue of some sort because it's like he started talking and you find yourself pulled under his sway, helpless but to follow along. Weren't you trying to keep your distance?

“How long have ye lived here, then? ’S lookin' a little bare” he said, gaze running over the empty walls.

You gave an embarrassed shrug, “A few months but I’m not exactly the most . . . handy of people,” here you gestured to the television that was mounted on the wall a touch too high.

When Johnny followed your lackluster waving to look at the screen, he couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

The TV was — well. It was on the wall and that’s about all that could be said for it. “I didn’t mean to mount it that high. It just kind of happened,” you said haltingly, embarrassed at the look he was giving you. Your cheeks must have been 200 degrees, “—and it was such a pain to get the screws in the first time that I just," you shrugged, "left it.”

“Ye have ta practically lay flat on yer back ta watch it!” Johnny exclaimed in astonishment. You buried your face in your hands, unable to keep his gaze any longer.“It’s fine! I’ll fix it. Eventually," you allow. "I just haven’t needed to yet.”

“Nah, I’m nae gonna have ye puttin' up with this. I’m busy today but I’ll be by early tomorrow mornin', ya hear?”

You tried to argue, insisted that he didn't need to fix it. He didn’t listen and steamrolled right over you.

\\\

The next day he was back at your house, making good on his promises. He didn't bring any tools over, using what you had to correct your mistake. That would have been perfectly fine if he would just. Stop. Talking.

"Ach, look at how prepared you are, dove. You've got the whole kit then, don't you?" He looked over your, honestly not-that-impressive tool kit with a discerning eye. Reaching in for what he needed he nodded his head at you with a condescending wink, "haven't you done so well."

After that you found yourself fluttering around him; offering him help, a drink, anything he needed.

Johnny put his hands on your shoulders. physically stopping you, "Sit down, beautiful, you donnae need to be faffin' about like this. Get comfy on the couch and just sit there lookin' pretty for me, yeah?”

Oh—you're not—that's not something—

You didn't say anything, you couldn't say anything. Instead you did what he told you, taking a seat on the couch and talking to him while he worked.

He adjusted the TV to a more acceptable height embarrassingly easy. What had taken you an hour to do incorrectly he had fixed in fifteen minutes. You stood to thank him, assuming you would be leading him out of the house shortly.

So how did you end up sitting back on the couch, watching a movie with your neighbor pressed all up against one side?

He was characteristically persuasive when he convinced you watching a movie was necessary to make sure all the connections worked right, seeing as how he'd had to unplug everything when he pulled it from the wall to fix your mishap. He had tugged you back into your seat and sat close beside you, pulling up a streaming service and selecting a movie you hadn't heard of before.

As he settled in to get comfortable with an arm thrown around the back of the couch you decided there wasn't really a whole lot for it and settled in yourself to watch the movie.

That was an hour ago and you were regretting your decision fiercely.

The movie Johnny had chosen was a dramatic romance with plenty of R rated scenes. There was one playing out across the screen currently and you were trying to be subtle as you squirmed, rubbing your sticky thighs together as the female lead moaned enthusiastically for the male lead eating her out on the kitchen table.

You probably could have restrained yourself if not for Johnny unabashedly rubbing his chubbing cock through his jeans. He had shifted and pulled his arm off the backrest but he was still pressed to you from shoulder to knee. You didn't realize what was happening at first until you glanced away from the screen after the lead's second orgasm and realized where his hand had crept.

He didn't look at you as he palmed himself—he kept his eyes firmly locked to the screen. It was almost as if he didn't realize he was doing it. Should you say something or just leave it? If no one drew attention to anything does that mean no one gets embarrassed?

Thankfully the scene ended soon and Johnny stood up with an excuse of using the bathroom, leaving you to get a grip on yourself. As he stepped inside the room he must have been a little too wound up because he failed to close the door properly, leaving it cracked just enough for the sound of skin rasping on skin as he touched himself to echo out into the living room.

After what felt like ages you heard the water running as he washed his hands. Shortly afterwards he was back on the couch, arm slung behind you once more.

There were no more heated scenes before the movie ended which was a relief. This time Johnny didn't argue as you led him to the door, simply told you he would be back the day after tomorrow to help with other handy-man items he had seen while he was there.

With an exasperated eye roll you agreed and told him you'd see him then, unable to help smiling back sweetly when he beamed at you before he headed home.

A short while later you went to the bathroom when you noticed your conditioner sitting on the back of the toilet, cap ajar, when you were sure you had left it on the lip of the tub. You frowned as you picked it up and looked at it curiously before you fixed the cap and placed it where it belonged. When you went to wash your hands you noticed your toothbrush sat on the counter. That was strange, it had been hours since you brushed your teeth, why was it still wet?

Next

banner by @/cafekitsune

Current Stories || Main Repository